I related to many of Tate’s flaws ... But I wasn’t sure how typical our experiences were ... Tate doesn’t tell us. I found myself hungering for more psychological, historical and sociological insight into the intricacies and pitfalls of female friendship, not just into her own psyche ... I also longed for a more novelistic touch, to experience vicariously and viscerally the aching awkwardness of the moment you realize you’ve forever altered the tenor of the friendship ... At times B.F.F. felt like too claustrophobic a look at a phenomenon that’s so much bigger than her fallen-apart friendships, though I applaud Tate’s willingness to expose her shortfalls... and offer readers a way forward.
Tate explores these memories and her adult friendships with the same vulnerability that made Group such a captivating read ... an openhearted examination of the power of friendship from people who love us exactly as we are.
Tate takes accountability for her actions... and she captures the transformative power of friendship ... Readers will be moved by this outstanding portrait of self-excavation.
... intensive yet refreshing self-analysis ... Tate’s chatty exposition tends to blunt some of the heftier core points about the importance of unpacking one’s psychological baggage and the value of establishing deeper interpersonal bonds. Nonetheless, after making cathartic amends to several of the people she ghosted along the way, the author clearly appreciates and respects the idea of female friendship and holds herself fully accountable for her mistakes. Readers will grasp the amount of work it takes to cultivate and preserve these kinds of bonds.
